No Good, Very Bad Day
by Lady Labcoat
Summary: John has had a pretty bad day at the surgery. All he wants to do is go home and shower. If only it were that simple.


**A/N: Greetings! Hope you all are having a wonderful day. The world didn't end, so that's a plus. For those of you who maxed out your credit cards thinking you wouldn't have to repay them, cheer up! Read the story and let's have a smile, shall we?**

* * *

Today sucked.

Yes, that may have been a rather inarticulate way for putting it, but it was really the only thing that fit. First patient of the day threw up all over John's shoes. He cleaned them up the best he could, but somehow some of it ended up inside his right shoe. His sock was wet with vomit. _Disgusting. _He tried texting Sherlock to come out and bring him some fresh ones, but he always replied with "Busy." He had planned on rushing home during lunch and changing, but the surgery suddenly got bombarded with patients. Sarah couldn't handle them all on her own so he was forced to stay.

Half an hour before he was supposed to leave, the kid from Hell arrived with his demonic mother. The kid had a sore throat and a runny nose. Nothing more than a common cold. But the mother had looked up her son's symptoms online and insisted her child must be dying of the plague. John tried assuring her that this was not the case, but she would have none of that. She would not leave until this _idiotic_ doctor ran every test to rule out everything. Over an hour later, John had done the few tests he was able to at the surgery, all having come up negative.

"You're wrong!" the mother shouted. "All your test are wrong! You must run them again. A mother knows these things!"

John was eventually able to convince her to head to the A&E if she really suspected he was wrong. And so she grabbed her son and they left. But not before that little brat bit him.

The mother made no apologizes. "Let's see how quickly you figure out what he has now that _you_ are infected!"

It was raining when John was finally able to vacate the surgery, which meant two things. First, there were no cabs available. Second, he left his umbrella at home. Because who actually has an umbrella when they need one? Certainly not John Watson on the day from Hell. _Mycroft would. _He wasn't sure _why_ the thought had crossed his mind but it had and he actually smirked. Just then, however, a car driving by went straight through a mud puddle and splashed John with God knows what. _Figures._

By the time he made it back to the flat, he was wet. Really wet. And he felt grimy. A shower was much in order. He called out to Sherlock only to receive no response back. Seeing that the long coat was gone he thought that perhaps Sherlock actually _was_ busy today. John looked around the living room and kitchen to see if anything was out of place. Everything looked like it was still intact. That was a good sign. _Where was I?_ John asked himself. He felt a cold drip of water fall from the back of his hair down his neck. _Oh, yes. Shower._

He walked into the bathroom and reached around the curtain to turn on the water, leaving the curtain closed. The shower was a bit wonky and it sprayed water all about. He headed for his bedroom to quickly discard his clothes, giving the water a chance to heat up. He made a mental note to remind Mrs. Hudson that he would install a new water heater if she wished. Wrapping his dressing gown around him, he headed back into the bathroom.

The room was dense with steam, yet it didn't feel incredibly hot. He disrobed, hanging his dressing gown on the hook behind the door. He cautiously reached a blind hand into the shower to test the water. _Perfect._

He was about to climb in when Sherlock suddenly burst into the bathroom looking manic and yelling, "No!" He grabbed John's arm and pulled him away from the shower. John, suddenly caught unaware, lost his balance and fell back. Sherlock had managed to catch him, but got tripped up on the bath mat and also fell. John landed on top of Sherlock, back to stomach. "You're ruining everything!" Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows to look between John and the now half-open shower which was spraying water all over the floor.

"Sherlock, I'm naked!"

"Are you?" Sherlock honestly had not noticed. He looked John over quickly. "Oh, look at that. So you are."

"No," said John half turning and placing a hand on Sherlock's forehead, pushing the man's head back.

Sherlock's elbows slipped on the wet floor and he fell backwards, knocking his head on the linoleum. "Ow."

"Do _not_ look at that." John carefully got up off the floor. looking down at Sherlock he asked, "So, what are you going on about now?"

"You're still naked," Sherlock deadpanned, staring up at the ceiling.

"My gown is behind the door you are laying against." Sherlock reached a hand out and John helped pull him up. He reached around and handed John the article of clothing. "Thank you."

"I wouldn't be quite so polite yet." Sherlock stepped around him and turned off the water. One hand on the wall and the other on the curtain, Sherlock looked into the tub and sighed. "Ruined," he muttered. "A day's work, gone."

John stood next to Sherlock and looked into the tub. A funny, surprised sound escaped his throat. "Is that?... It's a... Why?!"

"Why?"

"Why is there a leg in the tub?!"

"Well, it _was_ an experiment and it _was_ on ice, but your hot shower seems to have melted most that."

"Sorry," John replied automatically. "Wait, no, I'm not! Sherlock, no body parts in the tub! We have discussed this before."

"Must have deleted it," Sherlock said, turning away from the shower and heading out the bathroom.

"How convenient," John muttered. He watched Sherlock head for the living room. "Sherlock, you are going to have to clean this mess up." He heard the flat's door open. "Sherlock?" Then, it closed. "Sherlock!"


End file.
